of justice came from Denmark, and brought
intelligence of a dreadful murder perpetrated
in Copenhagen. In the person of the wounded
passenger they recognised the assassin. No
enquiries were made after Camillus. It was
believed he had been suddenly summoned
home.

This is the tale I promised as an
instance of what strange things may come
within the experience of very unlikely men;
and if there are any of my companions and
fellow students of the year eighteen hundred
and twenty-six still alive, I doubt not they
will corroborate every word I have said.

THE DEAD SECRET.

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SIXTH.—THE CLOSE OF
DAY.

THE night, with its wakeful anxieties, wore
away at last; and the morning light dawned
hopefully, for it brought with it the promise
of an end to Rosamond's suspense.

The first event of the day was the arrival
of Mr. Nixon, who had received a note on the
previous evening, written by Leonard's desire,
to invite him to breakfast. Before the lawyer
withdrew, he had settled with Mr. and Mrs.
Frankland all the preliminary arrangements
that were necessary to effect the restoration
of the purchase-money of Porthgenna Tower,
and had despatched a messenger with a letter
to Bayswater, announcing his intention of
calling upon Andrew Treverton that afternoon,
on private business of importance
relating to the personal estate of his late
brother.

Towards noon, Uncle Joseph arrived at the
hotel to take Rosamond with him to the
house where her mother lay ill.

He came in, talking, in the highest spirits,
of the wonderful change for the better that
had been wrought in his niece by the
affectionate message which he had taken to her
on the previous evening. He declared that
it had made her look happier, stronger,
younger, all in a moment; that it had given
her the longest, quietest, sweetest night's
sleep she had enjoyed for years and years
past; and, last, best triumph of all, that its
good influence had been acknowledged, not
an hour since, by the doctor himself.
Rosamond listened thankfully, but it was with a
wandering attention, with a mind ill at ease.
When she had taken leave of her husband,
and when she and Uncle Joseph were out in
the street together, there was something in the
prospect of the approaching interview between
her mother and herself, which, in spite of her
efforts to resist the sensation, almost daunted
her. If they could have come together, and
have recognised each other without time to
think what should be first said or done on
either side, the meeting would have been
nothing more than the natural result of
the discovery of the Secret. But, as it
was, the waiting, the doubting, the mournful
story of the past, which had filled up the
emptiness of the last day of suspense, all had
their depressing effect on Rosamond's
impulsive disposition. Without a thought in her
heart which was not tender, compassionate,
and true towards her mother, she now felt,
nevertheless, a vague sense of embarrassment,
which increased to positive uneasiness the
nearer she and the old man drew to their
short journey's end. As they stopped at
last at the house-door, she was shocked to
find herself thinking beforehand, of what first
words it would be best to say, of what first
things it would be best to do, as if she had been
about to visit a total stranger, whose favourable
opinion she wished to secure, and whose
readiness to receive her cordially was a
matter of doubt.

The first person whom they saw after the
door was opened, was the doctor. He
advanced towards them from a little empty
room at the end of the hall, and asked
permission to speak with Mrs. Frankland for a
few minutes. Leaving Rosamond to her
interview with the doctor, Uncle Joseph gaily
ascended the stairs to tell his niece of her
arrival, with an activity which might well
have been envied by many a man of half his
years.

"Is she worse? Is there any danger in
my seeing her? " asked Rosamond, as the
doctor led her into the empty room.

"Quite the contrary," he replied. " She is
much better this morning; and the improvement,
I find, is mainly due to the composing
and cheering influence on her mind of a
message which she received from you last night.
It is the discovery of this which makes me
anxious to speak to you now on the subject
of one particular symptom of her mental
condition, which surprised and alarmed me when
I first discovered it, and which has perplexed
me very much ever since. She is suffering—
not to detain you, and to put the matter at
once in the plainest terms—under a mental
hallucination of a very extraordinary kind,
which, so far as I have observed it, affects
her, generally, towards the close of day,
when the light gets obscure. At such times,
there is an expression in her eyes, as if she
fancied some person had walked suddenly
into the room. She looks and talks at perfect
vacancy, as you or I might look or talk
at some one who was really standing and
listening to us. The old man, her uncle,
tells me that he first observed this when she
came to see him (in Cornwall, I think he
said) a short time since. She was speaking
to him then on private affairs of her own,
when she suddenly stopped, just as the
evening was closing in, startled him by a
question on the old superstitious subject of
the reappearance of the dead, and then, looking
away at a shadowed corner of the room,
began to talk at it—exactly as I have seen
her look and heard her talk up-stairs.
Whether she fancies that she is pursued by